


All My Love

by maraudersaffair



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Blood, Community: hp_creatures, Creature Fic, Depression, Depressive Thoughts, Dirty Talk, M/M, Minor Violence, Oral Sex, Veela, Veela Severus Snape, creature: dark veela
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-16
Updated: 2018-10-16
Packaged: 2019-07-18 16:46:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16122662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maraudersaffair/pseuds/maraudersaffair
Summary: After the war, Severus opens a potions shop and gets on with his life. Everything is fine until one day he discovers he's a Dark Veela. Enter Harry Potter.





	All My Love

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** 15  
>  **Pairing:** Severus Snape/Harry Potter  
>  **Creature:** Dark Veela  
>  **Warnings:** some blood and violence, references to depression and thoughts of suicide.  
>  **Disclaimer:** This creation is based on characters and situations created and owned by J. K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made, no copyright or trademark infringement, or offense is intended. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent.  
>  **Notes:** Thank you to my beta, L! Thanks to  evening12 for the great prompt!

Severus Snape was an independent man. He didn’t need anyone. He was intelligent, resourceful, and deeply complicated. His loneliness was natural, expected; he’d grown to accept that he would only know unrequited love.

After the war, he’d opened a small potions shop in Diagon Alley. There were no signs or products in the window; his customers simply referred to the place as _Snape’s Shop_ , which was fine by him. 

His life was quiet now. He lived above his shop, and every morning he woke up early to brew his potions. Running a small business was exhausting. Customers were imbeciles. Sometimes he imagined casting _Sectumsempra_ on the truly mean ones. 

“You’re reformed,” he muttered often. It was good to remind himself.

Then, one day, Harry Potter popped in, and everything changed.

It was seven years after the war, and they hadn’t seen each other since Potter had visited him when he was recovering at St Mungo’s from the snake bites.

Severus startled when he saw Potter. His hand went to his wand in his pocket.

“Hi,” Potter said.

“What are you doing here?”

Potter frowned. He stood tall in his smart Auror robes, his boots shiny, the golden DMLE symbol on his chest catching the light. “Am I not supposed to be in here?”

Severus allowed himself to sneer. “How may I help you, _Auror_ Potter?”

“First, I need you to remove your hand from your wand.”

Severus took his hand from his pocket and let it rest at his side. He glared at Potter. “Are you in need of a potion or are you just here to humiliate me?”

“I’m having trouble sleeping. I heard you make the best sleeping aides.”

“What exactly is preventing you from rest?” Severus swept past him to survey his shelves of neatly labeled vials. 

Potter hesitated. “I have nightmares.”

Severus didn’t look at him, even though he itched to do so. “Have you tried dreamless sleep serems?”

“Yes, but they don’t work.”

“Did you take the correct dose?”

“Of course.” Potter sounded annoyed.

Severus wanted to snap _Don’t use that tone with me!_ , but Potter wasn’t his student anymore. Potter was now the one with the power.

Potter came closer. Severus stepped back slightly so avoid touching him. Potter was taller than him. He wore a nice cologne. He was attractive and young and strong. Severus hated him.

“Did you make all these yourself?”

Severus rolled his eyes. “No, I opened this shop just for a laugh.”

“You made _all_ of this? Brewing must be your entire life.”

“None of it concerns you.”

Potter looked at him, and his eyes were bright and very, very green. He wasn’t a child anymore. As a child, Potter could rarely stop himself from snapping back, but now he just looked at Severus calmly, almost friendly.

“It’s impressive, you know,” Potter said. “No wonder people recommended you.”

Severus almost blushed. Almost. He didn’t understand why Potter was complimenting him.

“So, what do you suggest? I can’t sleep. I’m desperate.”

 _Desperate._ Severus blinked rapidly. “Which serums have you already tried?”

Potter thought for a moment. “Blackwood’s serums; then some Muggle stuff from Boots; then an Edledore potion.”

“All rubbish. No wonder they haven’t been working for you.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” Severus plucked a vial from the top shelf. “Try this. I used Emperor Scorpion stingers and Widow’s Violas. Only the best.”

Potter frowned, staring at the clear liquid. “What does everyone else use?”

“Stingers from just any scorpions. Probably some dirty pansies found next to a Muggle car park.”

Potter laughed, and his eyes were still trained on Severus. “How much do I owe you?”

Severus straightened his back. “Nothing. Your Galleons are worthless here.”

“Meaning you’re giving this to me for free?”

“Yes.”

“But - I have the money. Let me pay you.”

“Absolutely not.” Severus tried to turn away, but Potter grabbed his arm. Something like electricity shot through Severus, and he nearly fell to the floor.

“Christ! Are you all right?”

“No - yes.” Severus gasped, clutching his stomach. “Stop touching me.”

“Why?” Potter dropped his hand. 

Severus sucked in a breath. Most of the electricity had faded, but a throbbing tension remained. He was shaking and he didn’t know how to hide it.

“You’re not feeling well. Something’s wrong.”

“Brilliant observation.”

Potter frowned. “Do you need to go to hospital? I could take you.”

“No - I just need a sit.” Severus staggered into the backroom, knocking over a few boxes on the way. He collapsed in his threadbare chair. 

“What can I do to help?”

Severus let his head fall back on the cushion. “Just leave me alone.”

“But -”

“Go, Potter. You are trespassing. Customers are not allowed back here.”

“Snape -”

“Professor,” he murmured, a little delirious. 

“I can’t just leave you like this.”

Severus punched the arm of the chair. “Just go and tell no one of this!”

Potter hesitated. Severus couldn’t focus his eyes, but he wished he could see Potter’s concerned expression. 

“I’m leaving my coordinates. Floo me if you need anything.”

“Yes.”

“I’m serious.”

“Yes.”

Potter dropped some folded parchment on the table. He moved about the room, still hesitating; then he left. 

When Severus heard the front door close, he slipped from his chair to the ground, groaning. He covered his face with his hands, trembling, his mind spinning. 

He knew. He knew exactly what was wrong with him. Fuck, he hated his life.

*

Two days later Severus found the first feather. He examined it in the misty mirror, his skin still wet from the shower. It stuck out from his right shoulder like a miniature blade. He plucked it from his flesh, his eyes fluttering, his teeth gritted. There was a lot of blood.

A week passed before he lost his strength. He lay in bed, his head swimming. He knew what would make him feel better. He needed a potion filled with Latticed Stinkhorns and Sweetheart Lilacs. He needed a bottle of whiskey. 

Heartache had made a home deep inside him. No, not heartache. Desire. Overwhelming, crippling desire. It lived. He had no idea how to fight it. 

He lay in bed and thought about Potter. He imagined him.

 _Severus_ , Potter whispered. _I need you._

He was hard, but it didn’t matter. He was beyond the physical. Sometimes he floated, drifting over his body, observing from the air. Sometimes he left his bedroom, his flat, his building. He was with Potter, or maybe just trying to find him. 

_Come to me_ , Severus whispered. _I can make it all end._

Then, one morning, he heard footsteps in his shop below. He tried reaching for his wand, but his arm felt like it was made of pure metal. Christ, he would die like this.

The door opened. “Snape? Professor Snape?”

Severus blinked weakly. He glimpsed red hair and a scarred face. “Bill Weasley.”

Weasley rushed to him. He cursed. “We need to get you to hospital.”

“No!” His voice was all gravel.

“You look on the brink of death!”

“Get me Latticed Stinkhorns. All I need is -”

Weasley cursed again. “No. I’m taking you to St Mungo’s.” He Conjured up a gurney and tried to levitate Severus onto it, but he was struggling too much, propelled by utter delirium. Weasley immobilized him and headed for the Floo. 

At St Mungo’s, the corridors were crowded and overrun by harassed healers. The mediwitches took one look at Severus and rushed him to the emergency room.

“I just found him like this,” Weasley said.

“How do you know him?”

Weasley faltered. “He was my professor. We fought on the same side during the war. I - we’re not close.”

An older woman peered down at him. “Merlin, it’s Severus Snape.”

Groaning, Severus tried to speak. _Get me out of here! I can take care of myself!_ These people would kill him. 

“Shh, love. Everything’s okay.” The woman looked back at Weasley. “Who can you Floo?”

“No one. The Minister himself asked me to check on him.”

“Understood.” She rushed Severus into a very bright room, leaving Weasley in the corridor. She tapped her wand to Severus’ temple and a moment later he was asleep.

*

When he awoke, Bill Weasley was sitting at his bedside.

“Go home,” Severus croaked.

“Can’t. Minister’s orders.”

Severus took a loud, painful breath. “And when has Kingsley ever given a shit about me? _Go home._ ”

Weasley shrugged. “I don’t know the man’s mind, but you’re a war hero. You deserve someone to look after you.”

“I just want to be left alone.”

“Fine. But tell me who to contact. Tell me who you want to be here.”

He almost said Potter’s name. Stupid. Stupid. 

“No one.”

“You need help.”

“I need quiet. I need peace.”

“You need someone to take care of you. I could ask my mum.”

“God, no.”

“Who then?”

“No one!” He slumped against his pillow, exhausted. 

“You might die. You might lose your strength, your magic might fail you. No one will be around to save you.”

 _Maybe I want to die_. He thought about Nagini’s attack. He thought about how he almost bled out on the dusty floor of the shack. He had wanted it to all end then. 

“Snape, be reasonable.”

“I’m not a reasonable man.”

“We all know.”

He blinked his eyes open. At some point they had fluttered shut. A blurry Weasley grinned at him.

“Do you know what’s wrong with me?”

Weasley hesitated. “They wouldn’t tell me.”

“Good.”

“Do you know?”

“Yes.”

Weasley scrutinized him. “Planning to keep it a secret, are you?”

“Absolutely.”

“Are you dying?”

“Yes and no.”

“You make no sense.”

Severus took another deep breath. “I’m dying very, very slowly.”

“And there’s no way to save you?”

“Oh, there’s a way, but it’s impossible.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

Weasley frowned at him. “You want to die.”

Severus didn’t say anything. He turned his face away. 

Weasley stood. “If you’re determined to kill yourself, there’s nothing everyone can do. What do you want me to tell the Minister?”

“Tell him I’m in perfect health.”

He snorted, then shook Severus’ weak hand. “Hang in there, Professor.”

“Goodbye.”

After he had gone, Severus slumped back on the bed. A mediwitch came in to check up on him. She cast some spells on him and fluffed up his pillow. She ignored the tears streaming down his face.

*

Severus left St Mungo’s the next morning. They’d supplied him with some mediocre potions and a few somber pamphlets. At home, he threw it all into the bin and went to bed.

Luckily, he had some money saved up, but his shop couldn’t stay closed forever. He would have to hire help. He would have to find a way to regain his strength for a few hours a day. Maybe it wasn’t worth even trying. 

He slept until lunchtime, then dragged himself from bed to eat some bread and cheese. He forced himself to drink a glass of water, then he went down to his lab. He was weakly cutting up some lilacs when someone banged on his shop door. 

He tapped his wand to his throat, magnifying his voice. “The shop’s closed!”

“Let me in, Professor.” It was Weasley.

“Must you?”

“Yeah.”

Sighing, Severus swished his wand to unlock the door. “Come in.” He stilled when he heard two sets of footsteps. He knew before he saw Potter.

“Are you trying to brew?” Weasley said from the creaking steps. Potter was right behind him.

“Yes.” His gaze went directly to Potter and something like lust surged through him. He dropped his knife.

Potter eyed him. He didn’t say anything, but his expression was almost stunned. 

“What?” Severus spat.

“You look like shit,” Potter said.

Severus gritted his teeth. “I’ve never been a handsome man.”

For some strange reason, Potter blushed.

“He’s not talking about your looks.” Weasley scrutinized him thoroughly. “You are very pale. You still look very weak.”

“I’m just a little _peaky_.”

“Are you really dying?” Potter blurted out. 

“Damnit, Weasley!”

“I didn’t tell him.”

Potter straightened his back. “I’m here on official Ministry business. The Minister told me everything he knew.”

“Great. Are you here to save me, then?”

“I’m here to assist in your recovery.”

Severus eyed his Auror badge. “You didn’t join the DMLE to look after grumpy old men.”

“I want to help you.”

“I don’t need your help!” He wanted to throw something, but he didn’t have the strength. He held his spinning head.

“What are you trying to brew? We can do it for you,” Weasley said.

“Absolutely not!”

Weasley spotted the lilacs. “You binned what St Mungo’s gave you, didn’t you?”

Severus sniffed. “It was rubbish.”

“Then let us do the brewing. You can instruct us.”

“Trust _Potter_ around a cauldron? Are you mad?”

Potter laughed. “I’m good at following instructions. I realized as much when using the Half-Blood Prince’s textbook.”

Severus stared at him. He knew that Potter had used his book, but it was strange that he knew about his childish nickname.

“And do you remember, Professor? I was almost top of my class in Potions.” Weasley smirked.

“Yes, I remember.”

“Then it’s settled. We’re brewing for you. What is the first thing we need to do?”

 _Leave me the hell alone!_ He inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself. “Put on aprons and wash your hands. Weasley, finish slicing these lilacs. Potter, you can wash the mushrooms.”

They got to work and it was strangely comforting to watch their every move. It was like the old days. 

“Wash them by hand, Potter. Gently. Don’t break their flesh.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You call those slices, Weasley? You are massacring my lilacs.”

“Thinner then?”

“What do you think slices mean? I don’t want ribbons!”

Weasley shook his head and sliced the lilacs thinner. Severus eyed his work, just a little more satisfied. He hobbled over to Potter at the sink. 

“Some of these are waterlogged! Now they will need to be dried before use!”

“Sorry,” Potter said mildly. 

Without thinking, he tried grabbing for the mushroom in Potter’s hand. Their skin touched and Severus’ knees buckled.

“Snape!” Potter caught him in his arms.

Severus gasped loudly. He was utter liquid. He was nothing but desire. He clawed at Potter’s back, reveling in the heat that seeped through his Auror robes. His head dropped forward. His whole world was Potter.

“We need to get him to bed,” Potter said, strained.

“We’ll levitate him,” Weasley said.

“No,” Severus moaned. 

Weasley’s spell gently pulled him from Potter. Severus moaned again. He was on his back in the air, his eyes rolling. 

“Grab his shoulders so he doesn’t bump into anything.”

Potter’s hands went around his shoulders. Severus pressed his cheek to his wrist. _Please,_ he thought.

Slowly, they made it up two levels to his flat. Weasley dropped him to his feet beside his bed. Severus nearly crumpled to the floor, but Potter steadied him with a hand on his lower back. Severus was certain he could come from just that touch. 

“Help me,” he whispered. 

With a spell, Potter got his boots and robes off. He was down to just his pants, but he was too delirious to give a shit. Potter stepped back, suddenly shy. 

Together, they got Severus under the duvet. Weasley brought him a glass of water from the kitchen.

“Will he be okay alone?”

Weasley shrugged. “He survived for weeks like this.” He leaned close. “We will just be downstairs brewing that potion for you.”

Severus couldn’t answer. They left and he remained motionless in bed. He fell unconscious but not really. He was awake in his dreams. He was downstairs with them, watching them brew. They were young and fit and beautiful. They were good men. 

Then the dream changed and suddenly they were snogging passionately. They were rutting, gasping. Potter dropped to his knees and tore open his trousers. He sucked Weasley’s cock into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing, those pretty, pretty eyes fluttering shut. He bobbed, slurping, and Weasley threw his head back. 

Severus wasn’t jealous. He was starving. He wanted to see Weasley fuck Potter. The dream shifted and he was watching Lily ride James slowly, her beautiful hair falling down her back, their hands clasped together. He stared at her flushed tits, his trembling stomach. James came, his mouth hanging open, and Severus was transfixed. 

Then he stood behind Potter in class. He was in his Auror robes, grown, competent, powerful. Severus leaned close and whispered in his ear: _All my love._

“Snape, wake up. You have to drink this.”

He opened his eyes. It was dark in his bedroom. “Who are you?”

“Bill Weasley. You wanted us to brew a potion for you.” He helped Severus sit up. Potter crouched down and tipped a vial into his mouth.

“This isn’t my recipe.” He could tell by the taste.

Hesitating, Weasley said, “We had some complications. This is the stuff we found in your bin.”

“Figures.”

He was lowered back to his pillows. He stared at Potter. He was too knackered to look away.

“Are you hungry?” Potter said.

Severus watched his lips move, then dropped his gaze down to his crotch. He had lilac smeared on his trousers. 

“Are you coherent, Professor?”

“No,” he whispered, still staring at Potter’s crotch. He wondered if his prick was still wet from their shag, but then he remembered it’d just been a dream. 

“We can’t leave him like this.”

“What can we do with him?”

“I could take him home,” Potter said.

“Good luck with that.”

“I’ll immobilize him if he resists.”

“Merlin, Harry. He’s not a prisoner.”

“Right.” Potter rubbed hard at his face. “I’m not thinking clearly.”

“Maybe he could be persuaded.”

“With what?”

“No idea.” They both stared at him. 

“What does Severus Snape want?” 

They looked at him like he was some Muggle contraption they needed to fix. 

He gulped, then gulped again. His voice was somewhere; he just needed to find it. “I want to be left alone.”

“Please, Snape.” Potter inched closer. “Come home with me. I know we’re not friends, I know you damn near despise me, but I promise to treat you with the utmost respect.”

“I don’t need you breathing down my neck.” His voice was barely audible. 

“Please, sir. Let me help you.”

Severus closed his eyes. He would never get over Potter begging him. Never.

“No.”

Potter raised his chin. “Then I will stay here.”

If Severus had his strength, he might’ve cursed Potter. He glared at him, and he hoped his eyes glittered menacingly. “ _Fine_. I will become your invalid.”

“Merlin,” Weasley said, shaking his head.

“You won’t be my invalid. I promise.”

Severus wanted to roll his eyes. Instead he laid back down and closed them. “I’m going back to sleep.”

“Good,” Potter said softly. “You need it.”

*

Severus dreamed of Hogwarts. He was a ghost. It was the night of the Final Battle, and he was nothing but smoke.

He watched Potter. He followed him. He saw his tears, his desperation. _I’m going to die_ , Potter whispered to himself. Severus wanted to take him into his arms. 

_Avada Kedavra!_

Potter fell to the ground, spread-eagle, his lifeless eyes staring skyward.

Severus crawled to his body, groveling, snot bleeding into his mouth. He held Potter close, rocking him. _I killed you, I killed you_ , he moaned. He held Lily.

*

When Severus woke up, he was in a stranger’s bedroom. _Grimmauld Place_ , he thought.

“Are you awake?” Potter said from the doorway. 

“Just barely.”

“Do you need the toilet?”

“Yes.”

Potter helped him across the hall to the lavatory. He left him alone and came back fifteen minutes later.

“I’ve made breakfast.”

“Thank you.”

Potter tried to help him downstairs, but Severus felt stronger.

“I think I can make it.”

It was slow going, but he hobbled all the way down to the kitchen. Potter hadn’t changed much about the old house.

Severus gobbled up his eggs and beans. He drained his coffee. He sighed and sat back in his chair. “I’m surprised you want to live here.”

“Why?”

He motioned vaguely. “The war.”

Potter peered around at the kitchen. “Does it make you uncomfortable to be here? Does it make you think of the Order?”

“Yes and no.”

Potter nibbled on his toast. He was lost in thought. “It used to make me think of the Order.”

Severus didn’t say anything. He ate his toast too, keeping his head down. He needed a shower. He needed a wank.

“How did you sleep?”

“Good, I think. I can’t remember much.”

Potter sat back and stretched. “I slept better than I have in a long time. I think it was because you were here.”

Severus didn’t know how to respond. He finished his meal without looking up.

“Do you mind if I go for a run?” Potter said.

“No. I will be in the shower.”

“Oh.” Potter dropped his gaze. He stood and took away their dirty plates. 

Severus stood as well. “I can clean up.”

“No, you need to relax. Enjoy your shower.”

“Thank you.”

“The armoire in your room will give you fresh clothes.”

 _Your room_. Severus staggered back up to the bedrooms. He was grateful that his strength was returning, but he didn’t like that it was just more proof that he was right about his condition.

He went to the armoire before bathing. It was ornate and black wood. He ran his fingers over its carved serpents, imagining their fangs pricking him. He opened its cabinet and found new shirts, trousers, and underpants. After some digging, he discovered the socks and shoes. 

“Expensive,” he muttered, and took what he needed. The armoire had probably cost a fortune when it was purchased years and years ago. 

The shower was ancient. He stood under the brass showerhead and flexed his toes against the dark marble. He soaped up his body and ignored his cock. He didn’t know if wanking would make it worse. He wanted to touch himself – he was desperate for it – but magic was a fickle thing. He knew not to test it. 

He washed off the soap and focused on his hair. It was too long. He hated when it sneaked past his shoulders. He’d gotten better about it, but grooming had always come second to him, especially when he was obsessively brewing. He was always obsessively brewing. It was how he coped. It was how he battled the lonely hours.

Potter was out on a run. Severus could see it clearly: His sweat-soaked shirt clinging to his strong back, his disheveled hair blowing in the wind. He’d sprint at the end, straining, pushing his limits. His arse was probably incredibly firm. 

Severus stroked himself without thinking about it. His cock was stiff, weeping, desperate. He trembled. He slumped against the marble, mind full of Potter. His hand moved slowly, his hips jerking. He could probably come without even touching himself. That was how much he wanted. 

He wondered what kind of women Potter fancied. He seemed to like gingers and freckles. He seemed to like athletes. Severus wanted to see him fuck a woman. He wanted to know what his face looked like on the brink of orgasm. He wanted to hide in a corner, watching, consuming, as Potter took his pleasure. He wanted Potter to know he was being watched; he wanted Potter to look up, catch Severus’ eye, and come so hard he _shouted_. 

_Please_ , Severus would say. _Let me lick you clean._

He shuddered, his mouth open in silent pleasure. He spilled over his fist and some of it got on his toes. The shower washed away the evidence.

*

Severus fell into a rhythm at Grimmauld Place. He excavated the old library. He found a text that the brewing community considered lost. He drank black tea and ate buttered bread. He did his best to stay away from Potter.

Potter was busy with work and mates. He whispered to them in the Floo. They were curious about Severus, but he kept them at bay. 

“He’s recovering.”

Severus pretended not to hear. 

He cooked for Potter and spent the cool hours of morning in his garden. He tired easily and had to kip afterward. He didn’t say anything, but he hoped Potter noticed his hard work. 

Then, one night, he woke up in Potter’s bed. He had no idea how he got there. He opened his eyes, confused. When he realized where he was, he gasped. Next to him, Potter was asleep, his eyes naked without his glasses, his hair as crazy as ever. He murmured and shifted closer. 

Severus wanted to touch him. He wanted to sneak his hand under the bedding and stroke Potter until he was hard and desperate in his hand. Maybe he could taste him before he woke up.

Fuck, fuck. 

Heart pounding, Severus slipped out of bed. He creeped to the door and slowly opened it. Potter murmured again and threw out his arm, evidently reaching for something or someone. Severus took one more look at him and fled. 

Severus was paranoid. He combed the library for answers. The only text that came close was stilted and Victorian and offensive: 

_The Veela’s desire cannot be denied . . . Its ancient magic will find insidious ways to capture its prey . . . The man unfortunate enough to be born Veela will find himself in unsightly situations when around its mate . . . The Veela has no control over itself._

He slammed the dusty book closed. He wasn’t an _It_. He was a human being who just needed help. Victorians were the worst.

What to do? All he had were spells. He’d lock his door, tie himself down. He would conquer this.

The next night he didn’t fall asleep for hours. He didn’t know how he would explain himself if Potter discovered him in his bed. He had no good explanation. He eyed the door, hoping his locking spell was strong enough. If this wasn’t enough, he would use ropes. He wasn’t sure if he walked to Potter’s bed, or if his magic transported him there. 

When he finally found sleep, he dreamed of the Dark Lord and his father. He dreamed of dirty Cokeworth and dangerous Knockturn. He tossed and turned; he forced himself through doorway after doorway, running, sprinting. If he stumbled or fell, he was a dead man.

“Snape, wake up. You’re yelling.” Someone shook him.

Severus awoke with a start. He bolted up. He was in Potter’s bed again.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I don’t meant to be here. I’m sleep walking.”

“I know. I was awake when you came in last night.”

Severus stared at him. “Why did you let me stay?”

Potter shrugged. “You seemed like you needed to be here.” His bright eyes roamed over Severus’ face. “Sleeping next to me must do you some good. You look healthier.”

He blushed deeply. He’d thought Potter knew something about the world. It never would’ve occurred to him that a man with his experience could be this naïve. 

“This is inappropriate,” Severus said quietly.

“Why?” Potter put a pillow between them. “Look, now there’s no chance we will touch. Please. I want to help you.”

“You _are_ helping me.”

“I’m so busy. I’m unable to be here for you during the day. Let me give this to you.”

Severus stared at him. “Why are you so committed to helping me?”

“You’ve sacrificed so much. You deserve it.”

“Potter.”

“Harry.”

“What?”

“Call me Harry.” He gazed at Severus steadily, almost challenging him.

Severus was reminded of Potter in his sixth year: _There’s no need to call me ‘sir,’ Professor._

He jumped from bed. “This is ridiculous! I don’t even know why I’m still in this house!” He went for the door, but Potter sprang from bed too. He grabbed his shoulder, causing Severus to cry out and clutch the doorknob.

“Severus,” Potter said quietly.

“Don’t call me that!”

“Why? Because we’re not mates? Because I haven’t earned it?”

He pressed his forehead to the door, enjoying the cool wood. “I can’t bear it.”

Potter spun him slowly around. His hands were incredibly warm. Severus turned his face away.

“Please look at me.”

“No.”

Potter touched his chest. He stared at his averted face. Without looking away, he dragged his hand down and brushed his hard cock with his fingertips.

Severus tore away, his eyes wide. Potter followed, his expression determined. 

“I know you get hard around me, Severus.”

“No – never –”

“You can’t lie. I’ve felt it. I’ve seen it.”

“No!” Severus fell back against the wall, utterly trapped. He had no idea what was happening, but his heart pounded too quickly for him to think clearly.

“Shh. Just let me help you.” Potter pressed forward. He reached into his pyjama bottoms to grasp his cock. Severus’ knees nearly gave out.

“Oh, God.”

“Yeah? Does this feel good?” Potter moved his hand slowly, his thumb swiping over his cockhead.

“Shut up.” Severus buried his face in his shoulder, unable to comprehend what was happening.

Potter laughed hotly. He whispered in his ear: “I want you to fuck my hand.”

Severus shuddered. There was no way this was happening. He was hallucinating; his dreams had finally gotten the best of him. 

Potter pressed his mouth to his jaw, not really kissing him. He seemed overwhelmed, too.

Then something terrible occurred to Severus: What if he was forcing Potter to do this? What if he was tricking him into touching him? He went cold. That had to be it. There was no way this beautiful young man would want someone so broken, so ugly. There was no way _Harry Potter_ would want to shag his old professor. 

“No!” Severus shoved him away. Potter stumbled back.

“Severus –”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!”

Severus charged from the room. Breathing hard, he summoned his wand. Potter came after him.

“Please – don’t go –”

Severus Disapparated.

*

Harry cursed loudly and sprinted back to his bedroom. Surely Snape had gone back to his flat. He was in the middle of tugging on his Auror robes before he stopped.

 _Think. Slow down._ He took a deep, shuddering breath. He was always acting compulsively; he was always throwing himself into situations without thinking of the consequences.

He removed his robes and sat down heavily on the edge of his bed. He should leave Snape alone for tonight. The man wouldn’t die simply because he was away from Harry for a few hours. 

Groaning, Harry fell back against his sheets. What the hell was he doing?

He turned on his side and pressed his face to the pillow Snape had used. It smelled faintly like him. Harry had liked that Snape slept next to him. He’d liked feeling the warmth of his body through the bedding. 

He’d touch Snape’s cock. He’d tried to wank _Professor Snape_. It was incredible. It was impossible. What had come over him?

The truth was that he liked Snape very much. He couldn’t explain why, but he did. It’d been six years since Harry had realized he was attracted to men, and none of his past boyfriends had ever made him feel what Snape made him feel. 

He’d kept track of Snape. He’d looked for him in the newspaper. He was glad that people valued his potions. He listened for news about his shop. It’d taken Harry ages to summon the courage to go inside. He faced down dark wizards all the time, but facing his old professor was by far the harder task. 

Seeing Snape in person had been a shock. Harry wasn’t a child anymore. He was mature and reasonable and steady. He was a man who knew what he wanted from other men. Snape had emerged from his shadowy back room and it’d taken everything in Harry not to gape.

Snape was sexy. He was dark and surly and ugly. His eyes had flashed when he spotted Harry. Snape looked like a man who would fuck Harry within an inch of his life, hard, brutal; then drop to his knees and slurp the come from his arse. He looked like a man who would revel in being a pervert.

Harry rolled onto his back and stared up at his dark ceiling. It was breathtaking how much he had changed since the war. He didn’t know that boy anymore. He remembered what he used to think of Snape. He remembered how he used to think he was a greasy, overgrown bat. Back then, he’d fancied only what people told him he should fancy; he’d known nothing about sex and pain and desire. He’d known nothing about what made him ache with need.

He ached now. Christ, did he ache. He wanted Snape to spit in his face and choke him. He wanted Snape to bend him over and take his pleasure. _Please!_ he’d cry. _Take what you deserve!_

He wanted Snape to make love to him. Slowly, softly. He wanted them to kiss, over and over, shuddering, moaning. He’d bury his hands in Snape’s long hair and whisper: _Baby_. 

But first he had to figure out what was killing him. He had to figure out _why_ Snape seemed to get better only when he was around him.

 _I make him hard_ , Harry thought, his eyes fluttering. He sneaked a hand into his trousers to stroke himself.

*

Harry took the next day off. He had too much on his mind to go to work. He headed for Hermione and Ron’s instead.

They lived in a cottage near a tranquil river. They’d bought it after Hermione quit the Ministry. _I’m sick of people!_ Hermione had said. She spent her first year at home making clothes for elves and volunteering at the local primary school. She was a lot happier now.

“Aren’t you supposed to be at work?” She said when she opened the door for him.

“I needed time to think.”

She peered into his face. “Come in, then. I’ll put the kettle on.”

In the kitchen, she urged him into a chair and slammed open cabinets and drawers to fix their tea. She frowned into her biscuit jar. “You like cherries?”

“Yeah.”

She sent two biscuits over to him with his tea. They added milk and sugar and sipped in comfortable silence.

“Well, give me an update,” she said. “I’m dying here.”

He blew out air. “He left last night.”

“What? I thought he was too weak to leave the house?”

“No, I told you. I regained his strength in record time.”

Hermione frowned, thinking hard. “You should let me see him.”

“No!”

“Come on. I can be respectful.”

“I’m not worried about _you_. He can be quite . . . rude.”

“Bill seemed to enjoy him.”

“Bill lets things roll off this back.”

“I don’t take everything personally.”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “He’s not nice when he’s cornered. He might make you cry or – I dunno – slap him.”

“I’m not thirteen anymore. You can trust me.”

Harry sighed. “I don’t know how long to stay away from him. I’m afraid to overwhelm him, but I also don’t want to pop over to his flat and find him dead.”

She shook her head. 

“What?”

“It’s weird, you know? You being this worried about Snape.”

“Yeah.”

“I always had to be the one to tell you stop suspecting him of every little thing.”

“I remember.”

“I was always telling you to calm down, to give him a chance. ‘Dumbledore trusts him for a reason!’”

“I’ve changed,” Harry said quietly.

“We all have.” She stood and took their empty cups to the sink. She leaned against the counter and stared at him. Her hair was wild, her clothes stained. She liked getting her hands dirty now. 

“What?”

“I have a theory, but you’re not going to like it.”

“How did you come up with this theory?”

“I did a lot of poking around in libraries. It’s all I’ve been focusing on these past couple of days.”

“And?” His heart raced.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s mad. It’s . . . tragic.”

“Tragic?”

“Yes, for both of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“No . . . I don’t want to say. Not until I speak to him.”

“Fuck, Hermione. You are making this very difficult.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just very important and I don’t want to jump to conclusions.”

He sighed. “Then let’s go to him.”

Hermione threw on some plum robes and pulled her hair back in a ponytail. They Disapparated to a lonely alley, then one more time directly into Diagon Alley.

The curtains were drawn on Snape’s shop. Potter tapped his wand to the front door and it popped open for him. They entered quietly.

“Is he upstairs?” Hermione whispered.

There were heavy footsteps on the stairs, then Snape appeared, his face livid. Harry’s stomach lurched. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” Snape’s angry gaze landed on Hermione. “And now you’ve brought Granger to annoy me too.”

Hermione straightened up. “It’s Granger-Weasley, sir.”

“Wonderful.”

“What’s wrong with your hands?” she said.

He cursed and tried to hide them behind his back. They were stained with blood.

Harry pressed forward. “Are you injured?”

“No.”

“Why are your hands bleeding?”

“It’s none of your business!” He turned away, and Hermione and Harry gasped: Blood seeped through the white cotton of his shirt.

“Your back –” Harry tried to touch him, but Snape jerked away.

“Yes, I know about my back. I’m perfectly fine.”

“That’s a lot of blood. Do you feel dizzy?” Hermione asked.

Snape stomped upstairs; they followed. He tried to hastily clean up a mess in front of a mirror, but they still glimpsed a few bloody feathers.

“Are those feathers, sir?” Hermione said. 

“No.”

“They looked like feathers.”

“Yeah, they did.” Harry was shaken. “Why are you growing feathers?”

“I’m not!” Snape made fists of his hands. He breathed hard, almost panting. 

“We all need to calm down. Let’s all take a seat.” Hermione plopped down on the sofa and waited for them to join her. Reluctantly, Snape took up a nearby chair. Harry join her on the sofa.

“Sir,” she said, her voice soft. “I need to ask you something.”

Snape groaned, exasperated.

“You need to be honest with me.”

“Do you want to force a potion down my throat? I could supply the Veritaserum.”

“That won’t be necessary.” She stared at him steadily. “Are you Veela?”

Snape closed his eyes. “Yes,” he said through clenched teeth.

She let out a breath. Harry glanced at her, then at Snape.

“How is that possible?” he asked.

“I’m not the one who should explain it to you.” She looked pointedly at Snape.

Snape still had his eyes closed, but he flinched slightly like he felt her gaze. “I’m the male version of Fleur Weasley.”

“It’s lucky you had Bill around then, eh?” Harry smiled weakly.

“There’s something Harry doesn’t know, isn’t there?” Hermione said.

Snape opened his eyes. They glittered with anger. “ _Yes._ ”

“You have to tell him now.”

“No!” Snape stood abruptly. He swept out of the room and slammed his bedroom door. Harry was on his feet, too. He looked wildly at Hermione.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” His voice was raised.

“I can’t be the one to tell you. We have to wait for Snape to stop being a coward.”

His bedroom door banged open. “I’m not a coward!” Snape stalked closer. He slammed down a dusty old book on his coffee table. 

Harry sat back down on the sofa. “What’s this?”

“My magical lineage.” With his wand, Snape flipped to the back of the book. Some pages had photographs, others just inky text. He pointed to an old photograph that looked from the nineteenth century. “My great-great grandfather, Fulvius Prince. He was the last known Veela in my family, but Mum always suspected my grandfather was one, too. My symptoms started later than most.”

The man in the photo didn’t look anything like Fleur. He looked a lot like Snape if Snape had a unibrow.

“That’s a lot of jewels,” Harry said.

Snape snorted. “He was known as an eccentric. His fashion proves it.”

“Sir,” Hermione said. “Get to the point.”

Snape stalked to a window. Harry stared at the blood on his shirt. 

“Do I have to say it?” Snape said to the glass.

“Yes,” Hermione said. “Harry needs to hear it.”

“It’s not that big of a deal if he’s Veela.”

She touched his knee. “There’s more.”

“How do you know there’s more, Mrs Weasley?” Snape turned slightly to them.

“Granger-Weasley.” She raised her chin. “You must think I’m an idiot. The signs are obvious.”

“They’re not obvious to me!” Harry said.

“If they’re not obvious to Potter, then I see no reason to explain.”

“Surely you are not this spineless?”

He bared his teeth. “How dare you.”

She stood. “Surely you are not this much of a coward?”

“I’m not above cursing a woman, Mrs Granger!”

“For the last time, it’s Granger-Weasley.” She held her wand. “Either you tell him or I do, but we both know it should come from you.”

Snape was shaking, and Harry didn’t know if it was from anger or fear.

“Severus,” he said quietly. “Please tell me.”

“Don’t say my name!”

“Fine, I won’t. Just tell me.”

“Not with her here!”

“I will leave.” Hermione pocketed her wand and went to the door. “You can find me at home, Harry.”

“Okay,” he said, his heart racing.

They stared at one another after she had gone. Snape hesitated before stepping closer. 

“You’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“Oh.”

“It might devastate you.” Snape spoke softly, his lips barely moving.

“You’re dying and there’s nothing magic can do.” It hurt Harry to say it.

“No, not exactly.”

Harry relaxed. “Oh, thank god.”

Snape smiled grimly. “It’s worse.”

“Nothing could be worse.”

“You are a very naïve man.”

“No, I’m not!”

Snape took a deep, shuddering breath. “Veelas have mates. Did you know?”

Harry frowned. “I’ve heard about it.”

“They die if they aren’t around their mates. They die if their mates reject them.”

Harry’s heart was pounding so hard it hurt. “Who is your mate?”

“I’m sure you’ve already guessed.”

Harry was quiet for a moment. “Bill Weasley.”

Snape laughed cruelly. “Try again.”

“But it would make sense why you are dying. He’s already married. He’s rejected you.”

“I don’t want a Weasley!”

Harry looked down at his feet. He whispered: “My mum. Your mate is my mum but she’s dead and that means you will die, too.”

“No, you imbecile!” Snape was suddenly right in front of him. He yanked him up by his shirt. “ _You_ are my mate!”

“But you hate me.”

“Not anymore.”

Harry felt himself grow cold. “Does that mean we’re bonded for life?”

“Yes.” Snape let him go. He stepped back. “It means that my health will always depend on you. If you leave, if you refuse to see me, I will die.”

“Blimey.”

“Yes.” Snape turned away, his back stiff. “If I were you, I’d leave right now. I’d leave before I was too involved.”

“You don’t think I’m already too involved?”

“You don’t know me enough to be involved.”

Harry laughed, and it was a strange sound even to his own ears. He didn’t know if he was angry. “Of course I know you.”

Snape jerked around to face him. “You know nothing about me!”

“I’ve seen your heart . . . I’ve seen your failures, your pain.”

“You’ve only seen what I wanted you to see!”

Harry cocked his head. “What have you hidden from me?”

Snape shuddered. He ran a hand over his face. “This is ridiculous. This is lunacy.” 

“I don’t think it’s ridiculous.” Harry stepped closer. “Please, I want to help you.”

“You don’t understand. You are too young. Too stupid.”

“Then explain it to me.”

“No – I couldn’t possibly –”

Harry touched his shoulder. “Please.”

“No! Don’t touch me! I can’t –”

“You can’t do what exactly?”

Snape shrank away. He hugged himself. “It never has to be said. It never has to be talked about.”

“Severus.”

“No.”

Harry inched closer. “I want to kiss you.”

Snape shuddered; he covered his face with his hands. “This isn’t happening.”

“You don’t want me to kiss you?”

“I don’t want you to pity me!”

Harry faltered. “I don’t pity you.”

“You want to take care of me like some invalid. You want to kiss me only because you feel sorry for me. None of this is real; none of it comes from the right place.”

“What’s the right place?”

Snape dropped his hands. His expression was dark, livid, his mouth trembling. “I want you to throb for me. I want you breathless, desperate. I want you to think only of me when you pleasure yourself.”

Harry parted his lips. “Did you know that I fancied men before last night?”

“I don’t know. I don’t really believe it.”

“You don’t believe that I fancy men?”

“What does it matter? You don’t fancy me.”

“I fancy you.”

“Rubbish!”

“Why is it so hard for you to accept?”

Snape’s mouth twisted. His face was flushed. “You are young! You are beautiful! And I’m – I’m _grotesque_. I’m old and broken and _mean_.”

“You are sexy.”

He stared. “What?”

“I think you are very, very sexy.” Harry stepped closer.

“Ridiculous,” Snape said faintly.

“Let me see your back.”

Snape hesitated. “Why?”

“You’re in pain. I want to heal you.”

“Stupid,” Snape muttered, but he went to the mirror and took off his shirt. “I had just finished plucking them all out when you trespassed.”

Harry came closer. He gasped. Snape was bleeding from several tiny holes in his back. “I don’t remember feathers last night.”

“It seems that I grow them when I’m away from you.”

Harry was too shocked to say anything. He touched Snape lightly on the shoulder. “What can I do to fix this?”

Snape flicked his wand and a potion and flannel soared from the toilet to the table next to the mirror. “The potion is my own making. It cleans and heals. Use the flannel to apply it gently.”

“Okay.” Harry dipped the end of the flannel into the potion, making sure not to drip any on the floor. He pressed the flannel to Snape’s back, causing Snape to inhale swiftly. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” Snape said, teeth gritted.

Harry pressed it to another part of his back, then another. He added more potion and did it again. A lemony alcohol scent filled his nose, and he was stunned when the holes began to close. Snape had his eyes twisted shut, his teeth digging into his lower lip.

“You’re brilliant,” Harry whispered, and kissed his shoulder. Without thinking about it, he pushed Snape’s hair to the side and trailed kisses up his neck. He felt Snape’s racing heartbeat against his lips. 

Snape moaned softly. 

“You’re beautiful.” Harry opened his mouth to his neck, tasting his skin. 

A shudder ran through Snape. “Fuck.”

Harry licked and sucked. He bit down lightly. He pressed his growing stiffy to Snape’s arse. “Don’t you feel how much I want you?” 

Snape turned around to face him. “So stupid,” he murmured and kissed Harry deeply. Their tongues brushed, and Harry tipped his head back, allowing Snape to control it.

Snape ended the kiss and stepped back. “You need to understand the ramifications.”

“I don’t care,” he said bravely.

“That’s because you are young and stupid.”

Harry raised his chin. “I’m not that young. Not anymore.”

“Thank god.”

Snape stalked away from him. He stared out the window, his back pale and streaked in red from the healed holes. “The Veela mates for life. You are too young to understand what that really means.”

Harry thought for a moment, his heart pounding. “We are both very young. Wizards can live for almost two hundred years.”

Snape turned sharply to him. “And do you really want to be stuck with me for that long?”

He shrugged. “I dunno, but I see no reason why I should ignore my feelings for you right now. Why we should both suffer because we fear what will come?”

Snape shook his head and turned back to the window. The light was hazy, almost blue, and it highlighted Snape’s enormous nose, the lines on his face. Nothing about the man seemed delicate or refined, and Harry liked that very much.

“I would never want to do this to you,” Snape said to the window.

Harry stepped closer. “What do you mean?”

Snape shook his head and didn’t say anything. His eyes were so dark that only a little brown shone in the sunlight. 

“Please,” Harry said, moving closer like he was approaching a frightened animal. “Tell me.”

“I’m not –” Snape gritted his teeth. “You are very unique.”

“So what?”

“You aren’t just anybody.”

“I’m quite normal for the most part.”

Snape laughed cruelly. “No, you’re not!”

“Are you saying that you don’t want to be with me because I defeated Voldemort?”

“No!”

“Then I don’t understand! Just tell me what you want to say!”

“I don’t have to tell you anything!” He stalked away from the window, wound tight with anger. 

“Come on,” Harry said, following. “Stop being such a bloody coward!” 

Snape swerved on him. “I’m not a coward!”

“Yes, you are! You have thoughts. You have feelings. And instead of actually communicating with me, you push me away!”

Snape glowered at him. His face had fallen in harsh lines, his mouth twisting, his eyes glittering menacingly. If Harry didn’t know any better, he’d say Snape was looking at him with pure loathing.

“You stupid, stupid _child_.”

“Don’t call me names.”

“You have no idea how beautiful you are. How perfect. You have no idea what you do to people. They can barely breathe around you. They throb for you. When you are around, it takes everything in them to not fall to their knees and _worship_ you.”

“Severus,” Harry said, breathless. 

Snape ran a shaky hand over his face. “You deserve the world. You deserve love and happiness and family. You deserve a pretty, pretty wife. Not me. You don’t deserve me. You have no business even thinking about me like that. I’m a sad, ugly man, and you are ten times out of my league.”

Harry closed the space between them and dropped to his knees. Snape tried to step back, but Harry grabbed his warm thighs. He pressed his mouth to Snape’s trembling stomach; he kissed and licked down to his trousers.

“Get up!”

“No.” Heart hammering, Harry slowly unbuttoned his trousers, giving him plenty of time to push him away. He lowered them down to his knee, then glanced up at Snape, who’s eyes were large, astonished. He curled his fingers into the waistline of his pants. “Let me.”

“It’s a mistake.”

“You are desperate for it. I can tell.” Harry dragged a finger over his erection, pausing where some of his precome wet the fabric.

“Fuck,” Snape whispered. 

“I want you, Severus. Let me have you.”

Groaning, Snape framed his face and kissed him desperately. His lips softened, parted, and they tasted each other. They kissed and kissed, tongues moving together. Harry moaned loudly, and Snape swallowed the sound. 

“I want you,” Harry whispered again.

Snape pulled down his pants with a trembling hand. He turned his face away like he was embarrassed. 

Harry was entranced. Snape had a nice cock. It was long and straight and flushed. Harry opened his mouth to his bollocks, sucking. 

“Christ,” Snape said, gaping at him. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Put your cock in my mouth.” Harry took his hand and placed it on his head. 

Getting the idea, Snape curled his fingers into Harry’s hair, tugging. He took his cock in hand and ran the wet tip over his lips. He smacked Harry’s cheek with it. Harry groaned lowly, understanding the urge to mark.

“Give it to me, love.”

“Shut up.”

Harry held his gaze. “Make me.”

Snape forced his mouth open and thrust inside, hard. Harry choked but didn’t move. The sound made Snape slow down and rock gently, over and over.

“Fuck, fuck.”

Harry kept his mouth nice and wide. He ran his hands over Snape’s trembling thighs. Snape’s hold weakened, and he bobbed his head, sucking, slurping. He leaned back to stroke his cock and swipe his thumb over the wet head. 

He held his thumb up to Snape. “Taste yourself.”

Snape took his thumb into his mouth, sucking. He pulled Harry to his feet and kissed him. “What do you want?” he whispered.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“How?”

“Take me to your bed. I want to be on my back.”

Snape nibbled on his lower lip. “That doesn’t sound like fucking.”

He kissed Snape’s cheek and whispered: “I want you to make love to me, Severus.”

“A dream,” Snape said, and drew him to the bedroom. He kissed Harry softly as he undressed him. He ran his mouth down his neck, over his shoulders. He lapped at his nipples, causing them to pebble. He followed a trail of hair down to his underpants. “Show me.” 

Harry tugged off his pants and kicked them away with his socks. He watched Snape closely, and saw how Snape’s face softened with lust. 

He touched Harry’s cock lightly. “You are perfect.”

“Just wait until you see my hole.”

“Turn around.”

Harry turned around and crawled onto the bed. He widened his thighs and arched his back. There was a brief moment of hesitation before Snape joined him. Snape ran his hands over his cheeks, and he was shaking again.

“Please.”

“Don’t talk.” Snape parted his cheeks to stare at his hole. He ran his finger over it. “You are clean and well-groomed. You must have a lot of sex with men.”

“I thought you didn’t want me to talk?”

Snape smacked his cheek lightly. “If it was up to me, you would call me sir in bed.”

Harry bit his lip. “It’s been a while since I’ve shagged someone, sir.”

Snape moaned. “Tell me why you are so ready for me then.”

“Wishful thinking, sir.”

“Do you want me to eat your arse?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you want my cock in your tight hole? Even though it will hurt? Even though it will make you ache?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Such a good boy.”

Harry groaned and buried his face into the bedding. He was hard and desperate. He wanted to beg Snape.

Snape muttered a few protection and cleaning spells. Then he licked his arse.

“Oh.”

Snape licked him again and again, drooling, getting him wet. He drilled into him, urging his flesh to open just a little for him. 

“Severus,” Harry moaned, trembling. He reached down to stroke his cock.

“Don’t touch yourself.”

Harry dropped his hand. “Please.”

“Be patient, Potter.”

Harry glared over his shoulder at him. “You’re eating my arse. You can call me Harry.”

“I thought I told you to call me sir?”

Harry twisted around so they were facing each other again. He wrapped his arms around Snape. “How about I call you professor?”

“No.”

Harry laughed and pulled him down so they were flushed against one another on the bed. “Remember what I said to you in sixth year?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I think you do.”

Snape thrust against him, making sure their cocks rubbed. Harry tipped his head back, moaning.

“Does that feel good, Harry?”

“Yes, sir!”

Snape sat back. He Conjured up some lube without his wand.

“You are so powerful,” Harry said.

Snape urged him to widen his thighs. He watched as he penetrated Harry with a slick finger. “Is this okay?”

Harry tugged on his cock. “More.”

He pressed another finger inside, his eyes never leaving his hole. He moved his fingers slowly.

“Do I feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Imagine how I’ll feel around your cock. Put another finger in me.”

Snape worked a third finger inside, but slowly, since Harry was still very tight. Harry’s toes curled, his back arching. The penetration burned. 

“You’re in pain.”

“Yes.”

“Do you like the pain?”

Harry twisted on his fingers, urging him to go faster. “Yeah.”

“What about your throbbing cock? Don’t you want to be buried deep inside a beautiful woman?”

“I want you,” Harry said, thrusting.

“I want to give you everything.” Snape leaned down and took him into his wet mouth. Harry cried out, overwhelmed. He loved it when lovers did this to him; there was just so much sensation from his arse being fucked, filled, and his cock being swallowed down by a wet, hot mouth. 

Snape bobbed his head, tasting him, his tongue working the shaft.

“You’re going to make me come,” Harry moaned.

Snape sat up. “And you don’t want to come yet?”

“No – I want to come with you inside me.”

“Are you ready for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir!” Harry twisted again, trying to get Snape to move faster.

Laughing, Snape withdrew his fingers and slicked up his cock with more lube. He got into position and stared at Harry.

“Are you sure?”

“Please, sir.”

Snape closed his eyes for a moment. He kissed Harry on the cheek.

“Perfect,” he murmured. 

“Please.”

Snape pushed into him carefully. Harry clutched at his shoulders and exhaled. Fuck, it hurt. 

“All right?” Snape said, trembling.

“I think so.”

Snape pushed all the way in, but he shook and moaned. Harry felt so damn full. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Harry groaned lowly. “Impossible – it’s impossible.”

Snape began to rock into him. He moaned continuously, his long hair falling into his face. Harry arched to meet his thrusts; he dug his short nails into his shoulders, desperate to anchor himself.

“Harry,” Snape whispered.

“More. I need more.”

Gritting his teeth, Snape sped up his thrusting. He hit that wonderful place inside Harry, which made his mouth fall open and his eyes roll back.

“You still have your glasses on.”

“Don’t care,” Harry panted. “Fuck me harder.”

“Sir.”

Harry laughed. Of all the times for Snape to repeat that mistake –

“Oh, fuck you,” Snape said, and thrust hard. 

“Yes!”

Snape thrust over and over, his cock so fucking stiff. Harry gripped his arse and urged him to go faster. 

Snape was muttering; he was whining. “Please.”

“Severus.”

“Please, please.”

“Anything,” Harry said, clawing at his back.

“I’m going to come.”

“Do it. Come inside me.”

“I shouldn’t, I shouldn’t.”

Harry was too aroused to understand. “Fucking do it.” He stroked himself quickly, trying to catch up.

“Love.” Snape was coming, his hips jerking, his moans high and strained. 

The sound of Snape losing control made Harry come, too. He kissed Snape sloppily as he spilled over his fist.

It took Snape a while to pull out. They kissed and kissed, and it was only with reluctance that they pulled away.

“I’m not saying that it doesn’t scare me a bit,” Harry said, snuggling close.

Snape had an arm thrown over his eyes, his chest still beating up and down. “What?”

“Nothing, not even magical bonds, is a sure thing.”

“Why are you _talking_ right now?”

“What I’m trying to say is that I want to try with you. I want to be your mate.”

Snape became very still. “There is no trying. Either you are my mate or you’re not.”

Harry looked at him. “Then I’m your mate.”

Snape pulled him into his arms. He kissed him again and again. Harry never thought Snape’s lips could be so soft.

“I would die for you,” Snape whispered. 

“How about you just take me out to dinner first?”

Snape snorted. He brushed his fringe back to kiss the scar on his forehead. “It won’t be normal with me, you do understand. I’m still trying to figure out what being Veela means. I don’t want you to suffer because of it.”

“That’s why you didn’t tell me?”

“Yes.”

“How long have you known it was me?”

“Since the very first moment.”

Harry kissed his nose. “Stop protecting me.”

“I can’t help it. I did it for so long.”

“God,” Harry said, clutching him. “I want you to have me.”

Snape pulled back to search his face. “Are you sure?”

“ _Yes_.” Harry kissed him until they both trembled and gasped for breath.

“Fuck, you’re giving me another stiffy.”

“Good,” Harry said.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of an anonymous fest. Reveals of authors and artists will be posted on 1st of November. Follow us on [TUMBLR](https://hp-creatures.tumblr.com/).


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